Collide
by DragonheartRAB
Summary: Strength is not measured in apathy, hatred, or coldheartedness. It is only measured in love and how far you go to show it. RM ratings may change with later chapters.
1. Turn Away

**Hello everyone! After a long break, I have finally decided to post a story that I have been working on for quite a while. I've had an idea for a R/M fic floating around for a while and I finally got around to posting it so here it is! I will warn that updates will be a little difficult for a few weeks because Jesus Christ Superstar does not end until March 18, and though the first four chapters and much of the story is finished, there are still a few gaps which need to be completed. So just hang with me for a little bit and I promise that things will get better.**

**Also, big thanks to my awesome beta reader Phanatic4Phantom who has been such a great help with this story! **

**disclaimer: I don't own POTO and any of the songs that are at the beginnings of chapters.**_**  
**_

_**Collide**_

"_Even the best fall down sometimes,_

_Even the wrong words seem to rhyme._

_Out of the doubt that fills my mind,_

_I somehow find_

_You and I collide."_

_-Howie Day,"Collide"_

_1. Turn Away_

The noose tightened considerably around Raoul de Chagney's neck as his fiancée, Christine Daaé, continued to delay the decision that kept his life on the line. He threw her one last glance, ready to give his life for her rather than see it thrown away to the monster that held the rope of life and death.

Something flickered in Christine's eyes. She slowly made her way to the Phantom and every move made Raoul even more anxious. He watched helplessly as his beloved pressed her blessed lips to that of a man who he had been fighting against for six months. It was a sight that burned, yet completely froze him to the spot so that Raoul could not even move. He continued to watch with raging jealousy, trying to remind himself that it was only an act to save his life.

But something was terribly wrong. Just when the monster had released her lips, Christine returned to his and Raoul felt his heart give a painful pang. There was a look in her eyes, a look that had once been reserved for him alone that she now wore as she gazed upon that horrid face.

"Go, forget me, forget all of this," the Phantom growled, turning away.

Hope had rekindled itself as Christine returned to Raoul and released him from the ropes. Immediately, her lover pulled her into an embrace, but when he pulled away, Raoul saw a distant look in her eye that chilled him.

"Come on Christine, we're free! Let's go!"

But Christine slowly began to back away with a sad, pitiful look on her face.

"Christine?"

She shook her head. "I belong with him," she said in a low voice. "I'm sorry Raoul."

Everything within him and around him became terribly still when those bitter words reached his ears. Raoul simply stood their motionless, too numb to even cry out in protest. Only when Christine had returned to her "angel" and disappeared with him into a dark tunnel did the young Vicomte actually regain movement.

"CHRISTINE!" he cried frantically in one last attempt to reach her. His desperate voice echoed throughout the cavern, but she was gone. He had lost her with that damned kiss.

Numb to everything around him, Raoul sloshed back through the murky water, not noticing how cold the water was, nor that the wound on his arm had reopened and was soaking his sleeve with blood, nor that he was terribly weak. He only continued to trudge on, disconnected from his surroundings and himself.

At last, Raoul found the surface, away from the pits of hell, yet the journey had weakened him greatly. His legs began to shake violently, threatening to give out beneath him. He leaned against the alley wall, trying to steady himself, but the poor boy was so weak that he was even fighting to stand. His entire body had begun to tremble and was getting considerably warmer. Raoul sat down against the wall, trying to stay conscious while drifting into a hazy world threatening to disappear to blackness.

As if were a godsend, a seraph from heaven descended upon him, but as she got closer, his sight got blurrier.

"Monsieur le Vicomte!" it cried, helping him to his feel. He blindly followed her in a feverish trance to what seemed to be the ends of the world until he collapsed into rest.

* * *

In disgust, Meg Giry retreated from the Phantom's lair, unable to watch as her companions and piers looted it. True, he had done a lot of damage, but Meg did not believe that one wrong after another solved anything. She had managed to save his mask and one last score of _Don Juan_ before she left. Such treasures had to be saved, no matter whom they belonged to. One way or another, the young dancer managed to find a way out and watched as the roof of the opera house was enveloped in flames. 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder and she spun around.

"Maman!"

"Oh thank God I found you. Come Meg, I found a place for us to stay."

Meg followed her mother thought the crowd of passersby and pedestrians that watched the demise of the Opera House. They turned a corner and Meg noticed a person sitting on the street. Her mother had always instructed her to ignore beggars, but she was almost certain that the man had the face of someone she knew all too well. With curiosity, she approached the weary figure.

"Meg, come along, we have no time for this," her mother reprimanded.

But still Meg ignored her and kept her eyes on the person. He looked up at her and immediately Meg recognized his kind, gray eyes, gentle, boyish face, and sweeping, brown hair.

"Monsieur le Vicomte!" she gasped. Meg knelt down next to him and took his hand, shocked by how clammy it was. She raised a hand to his forehead, finding that he was alarmingly feverish. Mme. Giry came to her daughter's side, surprised to see that it was indeed the Vicomte.

"Maman, he's sick with a fever."

"Help him to his feet. We'll have to take him with us," she instructed.

With all of her strength, Meg pulled the dazed boy to his feet. She could see his legs wobbling, but she let him lean on her and they managed to walk a few blocks to the inn that Madame Giry had found. Two rooms connected to each other were secured and the reached the room just in time for the little strength that remained in Raoul to give out and he collapsed onto the bed, shivering. Meg quickly started a fire as her mother tucked him in. A ragged cough suddenly caught the older Giry's throat, startling Meg a bit.

"You should rest," Meg said, handing her mother a glass of water. "I'll watch him."

Madame Giry's eyes flickered with uncertainty for a moment.

"Oh please maman, I can take care of it. You can trust me."

Her mother flashed a knowing look. "If you need me, I'll be in the next room."

'_Well then,'_ Meg thought to herself, _'this is certainly an interesting situation.' _Never had she ever thought that she would actually have a chance to be alone with Raoul de Chagney. A whimper from the exhausted boy immediately drew her to his side and she sighed as his face contorted into a look of discomfort. Though the thought made her blush, she was well aware that she needed to get rid of his soaked shirt before she did anything else. It was for his own good, so no harm would be done then right? With crimson cheeks, Meg carefully removed his dirty, wet shirt.

'_Oh he is so handsome.'_ Her face became almost as warm as his as she pulled it away, revealing his smooth, toned chest. It was the first time she had ever seen a man shirtless, and to be in such a position with _this_ man of all people was very embarrassing, especially considering how many time she had thought of such a situation. She was incredibly grateful her mother was not here to see her in such a state. So often in Meg's hopeless and fruitless dreams had he kissed her passionately, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her off to some secret and private place where their souls and body had combined as one while he whispered sweet words of love in her ear. They made wonderful daydreams, yet she knew that she should not dwell on such impure and hopeless thoughts and this situation was doing nothing to drive them away. But there would be other times to think of that. Right now, there was a patient to tend to.

With a cool cloth and flushed cheeks, Meg wiped away some of the sweat on grime on Raoul's chest, hoping that it did something to soothe his burning fever before bandaging the cut on his arm. With a mother's and lover's affection, she pulled the covers over him and went to the bathroom to wash out the cloth and fill a small bowl with cold water. Tenderly, Meg placed the cool washcloth on his forehead and his features softened, but she couldn't help but notice that his breath was still ragged and his lips were parched. She squeezed a few drops into his mouth and at last Raoul seemed to sleep soundly.

Hours continued to pass as Meg remained by Raoul's side, never taking her eyes off of his face and making sure that he was as comfortable as possible. As she kept her faithful vigil, her thoughts returned to the first time she met him. Raoul had captivated Meg the moment she first saw him. His kind, honest, gray eyes and boyish grin had immediately caught her heart's attention. Her heart had soared in that moment, but plummeted just as fast when Christine mentioned the past that her and the Vicomte had shared. Unwilling to break their sister-like bond, Meg simply stood aside, seething in jealousy and longing as every kiss and embrace that the two lovers shared shot through her.

But now… now Christine was gone. Raoul was all by himself. Could she even dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, Raoul might kiss her as tenderly and sweetly as he had Christine?

'_Oh Meg, you're hopeless. Stop thinking such foolish thoughts,'_ she chided. Reason was right. Though Christine was not physically there, it would be a long time before her lover would be able to overcome her spirit. Not only that, there was still the fact remaining that they were from two different worlds in society. Nobles did not associate with ballet rats, with the exception of physical demands. Even though Raoul had tried to bridge the divide before, he would have surely learned to stick to his own class after this catastrophe. But there was one thing about him that Meg knew no one could take away. No one could ever steal tonight from her. As long as she lived, she could always remember the night when she had cared for her beloved and she could add it to her collection of dreams and remember this night whenever she wanted to.

The hour was growing terribly late and it was getting harder and harder for Meg to stay awake. Carefully she laid her head on Raoul's chest, contently listening to his steady heartbeat. Taking his hand in hers, Meg's eyes finally shut and she gave into sleep at last.

**Love it? Hate it? Please let me know. I'll try to update once a week. Though it will be difficult at first, a majority of the later chapters are all done, so once I get through this small bit of writer's block, things should get better.**

** _-Rachel_**

rk, 2001.


	2. The Healing Process

**Thank you so much to all of my wonderful reviewers! You totally made my day! I decided to just post this chapter now since I doubt that I'll be able to this week, since it is hell week of JCS. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own POTO or songs.**_  
_

_"Love heals  
When you feel like you can't go on._  
_Love heals_  
_Hold onto love, it'll keep you strong._  
_Love heals_  
_When you feel like you can't go on._  
_Love heals  
Hold onto love, it'll bring you home."_

_-"Love Heals" from RENT_.

_2. The Healing Process  
_

Raoul groggily opened his eyes. This was certainly not the bedroom of his manor; it wasn't even the alley that he remembered collapsing into. He tried to raise his head, but as soon as he did, the room began to spin.

'_What did I do to myself?'_

Then everything came back like a fist in the face. _Don Juan; the Phantom; the kiss._ The fact that Christine was gone came back like a blow to the face. But another thought had entered his mind: who had gotten him out of the gutter?

Raoul's attention shifted to the small figure curling from the chair onto his chest with a mane of wavy blonde hair spread out around her. Holding his head, Raoul managed to slowly sit up, noticing that the covers slid down, revealing his bare chest.

'_What the hell really happened to me?'_

As soon as he moved, the little figure sleeping on him jumped and awoke instantly. He recognized her immediately; it was Meg Giry, the daughter of the ballet mistress who he had seen by Christine's side countless times.

"Oh, you're awake!" she squeaked. The poor girl looked exhausted. "You shouldn't be sitting up monsieur, you are still very sick."

"Mademoiselle Giry?"

"Yes?"

"What happened last night?"

"Well, I was leaving the Opera and maman found me and then we found you in the streets and took you back here."

"Where are we?"

"The Gateway Inn," Meg replied. "Now Monsieur le Vicomte, you really should lie back down." She laid the back of her hand over his forehead. "You still have a fever. You need to rest." And with that, Meg proceeded in finding something cool to put on Raoul's head and left the room. It was not long before she returned with her mother.

"Good morning Vicomte."

"Good morning, Madame," he replied weakly.

Madame Giry ordered Meg to get some breakfast and turned to the Vicomte.

"Monsieur, what happened down there?"

Raoul felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Remembering had been bad enough, but to repeat and relive every agonizing moment was too much to ask.

"Madame Giry, please."

"Monsieur, I need to know."

With a deep sigh, Raoul started to retell the nightmare that was sadly a reality. "I managed to find her down there, but _he_ noticed me first. The Phantom allowed me to come inside but it was a trap and he caught me in a noose. Chris… _she_ had a choice; marry him and I could live and refuse and send me to my death. She never really chose."

"What do you mean?" Giry asked.

Somehow or other, the bitter words were released, stinging his throat as they passed his lips. "_She kissed him_," he uttered in a raspy whisper, "she has left with him." Raoul fought to hold himself steady and try not to reveal the weakness that Christine's memory had instilled in him.

"So they are safe then," she sighed to herself. Raoul nodded slightly. "Thank you Vicomte."

Meg opened the door with a small basket in her hands, instantly breaking the conversation.

"I brought some muffins maman. They're in the other room."

Madame Giry left and Meg couldn't help but notice that Raoul looked even wearier than before.

"Monsieur, are you alright?" _'What a stupid question. He's only sick and he lost his fiancée.'_

"Depends what you mean by that," Raoul replied glumly.

"I brought you some breakfast," Meg said meekly.

"Mademoiselle?" he asked weakly. "Were you up all night?"

"Well someone had to make sure that you would be okay." _'And how could I leave someone I love to die?'_

Raoul smiled slightly at her and looked away as he took a bite of a croissant. It tasted bland to him. Everything in life had lost its flavor. Ever since last night, he felt like his soul had been torn from him. The world, once bright as day, had become a surreal, cold place in which he only existed with an empty heart. "My God, _why_!" he whispered in a choked voice.

Something dark and dreary had clouded Raoul's gray eyes as he turned his gaze away. Meg was almost sure she knew why as her heart melted from his sad gaze. It was Christine again, it would always be Christine. She watched sadly as his eyes shut in frustration to control himself and still a solitary tear escaped. Others soon followed and Meg sat there, torn apart by her beloved's grief. She silently cursed her friend. Yes, she had some dark joy that Christine was gone, but it hurt to watch the effects that her memory had on Raoul. His cries slowly rose to gentle sobs, each one shaking her to the core. Hesitantly she pulled him into her arms and his quivering body held onto her. His tears were muffled into her shoulder and Raoul found that he didn't care about anything else but the desperate need for the comfort of human contact. A tear of her own fell down Meg's rosy cheek as his sorrows poured into her heart and she began to weep for the man that she embraced and for losing a love that had never been hers to begin with.

**Nothing like a good crying scene. I'm sorry these chapters have been so short. I'm trying to make them longer. Tell me what you think!**

**_-Rachel_ **


	3. Everywhere to Me

**Hey guys! Sorry this took so long. Last week was well, the last week of Jesus Christ Superstar, which was amazing. Now that its over, I should have some more free time for updates. Sorry if this is a blah-ish chapter since I haven't had much time to do better.**

"_You're in everyone I see,  
__so tell me  
__Do you see me?"_

_-Michelle Branch, "Everywhere to Me_

_3. Everywhere to Me_

While Raoul recovered from his fever, Meg continued to remain faithfully by his side, lovingly caring for him, but the love in her actions continued to go unnoticed. After almost a week, when the Vicomte was surely healthy again did Meg reluctantly let him go. Though he had assured the Girys that he would repay them for saving his life, the dancer still doubted that they would meet again.

Slowly the Girys were making their way back onto their feet after the disaster. Now that the Populaire's dormitories were no longer an option, they now rented out a small tenement. It was not as comfortable as their former rooms, but the family still had many blessings left. Madame Giry had managed to save a few possessions before they were consumed by fire, and there was still some money left over. Most of all, they had each other. There were dancers that had come to the Opera alone without a family behind them. Dark, unspeakable, terrible fates awaited them and neither mother nor daughter wanted to imagine what had become of those poor girls. At least Meg had even managed to find another job opportunity. While flipping through the paper, and audition notice at a small theater had caught her eye.

"Oh look Maman, Le Théâtre Comique is holding auditions for _A Midsummer's Night Dream_!"

"Wonderful, ma cherie," Madame Giry replied before another coughing fit seized her and she quickly drank some water. "Perhaps they are in need of another ballet mistress, or even a seamstress."

Meg's heart sank as she looked at her mother. She had been such a strong, independent woman, and now the disaster had brought her down. The thought of her mother as a lowly seamstress was terribly degrading. "Maman, you should rest. You need to get that cough checked out by a doctor."

Her mother inwardly sighed, knowing that their situation left them a bit lacking in money. "Let us wait until you get a paycheck again."

On the day of the audition, Meg rose early to prepare for the day ahead. She ate a light breakfast before stretching and warming up. At last, she took a leotard and one last pair of tights and pointe shoes before heading off to the theater.

Le Théâtre Comique was certainly nothing compared to the extravagant Populaire. Everything was just smaller, the foyer, the house, the stage and it made her feel smaller. The theater didn't even have dormitories for the performers. As Meg's name was called, she shyly went onto the worn stage. The footlights and shadow of the seats from the stage instantly brought her thoughts to performing. A pianist played the music for her routine and she lost herself in a dance. Her body swayed as her arms waved about and her feet moved as though they belonged to themselves. Meg lost herself in the spotlight as the familiar feel of a stage beneath her slippers made her feel at home again. In the climax of her dance, she spun into a series of pirouettes finally ending in a fantastic bow. A smile spread across her face as scattered applause broke out, making her aware of those watching. Feeling very confident and proud of herself, Meg left the stage and sat in the back of the theater to watch the others.

At the end of the auditions, the manager, Monsieur Danier got up and began assigning roles. Meg was chosen to be Cobweb, one of the fairy servants of Titiania the Fairy Queen. She was about to change and go back home when her heart stopped for a moment. Raoul had just entered the theater and was talking to the manager, Monsieur Levier. Shyly, she crept near them, keeping a distance so as not to intrude on their conversation, but close enough so that there was a chance that Raoul might notice her. With a nod, the Vicomte turned around, heading in her direction. Holding her breath, Meg prayed that he would see her. As he walked right past her, she let out a sigh and turned to get the rest of her belongings.

"Mademoiselle Giry!"

Her heart instantly leapt as that familiar voice called her and she anxiously turned to him.

"Good morning Vicomte," she said with a smile.

"Same to you, mademoiselle. How have you been lately?"

"We've been making it through. I managed to get a part in the play."

"Congratulations. And how is your mother?"

Raoul noticed as Meg's eyes dropped as he mentioned Madame. "She is… not quite the same. I worry about her. She's had a terrible cough since the disaster and refuses to find a doctor. But enough about me. What brings you here?"

"Well, since the Populaire is gone, I've decided to help out the Comique. It certainly could use a bit of work, and I hope that maybe it will help you out as well."

There was an odd moment of silence and they stared at each other nervously. "Well," Raoul said, breaking the uncomfortable quiet, "I must be going. Good day, mademoiselle. I pray that you mother will be well again soon."

"Farewell," Meg replied. As he turned away, a smug smile came to her face as she realized something. _'He never noticed Christine right away.'_

As Raoul returned to his family's manor outside of Paris, he couldn't help but think about how odd it felt to see Meg again. Stepping inside another theater had been terribly difficult. Just being in the open atmosphere of a stage had brought back surges of longing. His eyes had occasionally drifted up to where the auditions had taken place. It brought back so much of Christine, but the reminder that she was not up there made everything feel so empty and wrong.

And then of course, seeing Meg had come with the same doses of false reality and familiarity. Though he had never really paid much attention to the blonde ballerina, there had been moments when he waited for Christine and conversed with her best friend just to pass time. Seeing someone who was so close to her made it feel like old times, when she was still here. He nearly half expected the diva to appear at any minute. _'But you keep forgetting that she's gone now… for good.'_ When would his heart ever learn that she was gone! Why couldn't he just let go!

But even with this bittersweet fantasy he lived in, filled with the emptiness of a broken heart, being around Meg was almost comforting. Seeing people and places that Christine was associated with were curses and blessings all at once. The little dancer had also been incredibly helpful with his case. After all, she had saved his life. But there was something else that almost seemed to pull him to her. Not only could he maintain his cursed, yet blissful fantasy around her, but now he had someone to talk about his woes with, someone to comfort him without just plain pity, but genuine understanding. Meg would not criticize him like Philippe would for letting love blind him. Sweet Meg would simply sympathize and maybe even make it easier to recall good times at the Populaire. Perhaps meeting the little Giry again was more of a blessing than he expected.


	4. Measure in Love

**Omg I'm so sorry this took so long. Even after JCS I still have no life. I blame it on my stupid research paper. However, its done so maybe I'll be able to do some more work on this.**_  
_

_"Five hundred twenty-five thousand_  
_ Six hundred minutes!_  
_ Five hundred twenty-five thousand_  
_ Journeys to plan._

_"Five hundred twenty-five thousand_

_ Six hundred minutes_  
_ How do you measure the life_  
_ Of a woman or a man?"_

_-"Seasons of Love" from RENT_

4. _Measure in Love_

It was not long before the Girys had managed to get back on their feet and had almost reached normalcy. After all, they had each other, they had a decent place to live, and now that Meg was performing again, they still had enough money to make it by. But at the same time, there were many voids in their souls left open in this new life. The Comique was not filled with family like the Populaire had been. There were a few girls that Meg considered companions, but she found no sisterhood in them and everyone else remained fairly distant. Yet Meg knew better than to complain about it. She had enough to be content.

As time passed, Madame Giry's health continued to deteriorate. Every day she was a little weaker and every day Meg's concern about her increased. Madame's physical strength was waning, but her inner strength and stubbornness still prevailed as she protested again a doctor. Bed rest, she claimed, would make her well. Meg didn't have the heart to remind her that it had been two months and it was doing nothing.

At the Comique, Meg's spirits began to rise. Rehearsals had been going very well. Though she did miss the splendor of the Populaire, working at a smaller theater had advantages as well. There were still those who had Carlotta-proportioned egos, but thankfully no diva-sized tantrums. And, thanks to Raoul's patronage, the theater was finally going to add on dormitories and construction would begin after _Midsummer_ was over. It felt as though she had never left the stage. Still, there was one thing about the Comique that was both a blessing and a curse: no Christine. Meg did miss her friend, for she had been the closest thing to a sister that Meg ever had. This corps was not as much fun without Christine to gossip and laugh with. But there was one good thing about Christine's absence that Meg could not deny: there was no Christine around to take time with Raoul away from her. It was often that the ballerina and the vicomte crossed paths that soon followed with a short conversation, and Christine was not there to distract him from her.

After a vigorous rehearsal, Meg hurried home, wanting nothing more than to soak her aching feet. However, she had no sooner come through the door and found Mme. Giry in another coughing fit. She quickly when to fetch a glass of water, but when she returned, she noticed the flecks of blood that spotted her mother's handkerchief.

"That's it! We aren't waiting any longer to take you to a doctor."

Madame, still coughing, looked at her daughter with defiance that Meg easily read in her eyes.

"No maman, you aren't fine! You're coughing up blood! That's not normal. You need a doctor."

The Giry's quickly hailed a coach to the nearest hospital and Madame was quickly attended to. To soothe her condition, she was given some cough syrup and laudanum and was peacefully asleep. Meg sat by her mother, lost in deep thought and staring into space before the doctor came in, jolting her out of her trance.

"Will she be all right?" Meg asked, fearing what such a question could bring. As the doctor's face turned grave, she felt her heart freeze with fear.

"For now she will," he said, pausing for a moment. "You and your mother worked at the Populaire, am I correct?"

Meg nodded.

"I assume that you were both near by when the fire started."

"Yes."

"I am very sorry Miss Giry, but your mother is suffering from smoke inhalation. It has damaged her lungs very badly."

"There must be something that you could do?"

"I'm afraid that nothing can be done to cure her. An apothecary might have some elixirs that might make her condition easier, but that is all that I can recommend."

The doctor had answered nearly all of her questions, but there was still one left, one that Meg feared to have answered above the rest. She swallowed as she gathered up her courage.

"How… how much longer does she have left?"

"It is hard to tell, but up to two months at the most." His look was very sympathetic as he noticed how the little ballerina fought to hold her tears back.

So that was it then. Her mother had a maximum of two months left to live and that was it. _'Why?'_ she thought miserably. _'Why does life never cease in punishing me? It took away Raoul before I ever had a chance, it took away my home, my career, my friends, and now, I have been robbed of the only family I have left.'_

Poor Meg had never felt more torn between anything before. Because Madame's time was severely limited, she wanted to spend as much time with her mother as possible. Yet, with this sickness came paying for the elixirs that kept her mother comfortable, so Meg had to work in order to keep money in the house. Her torn duties could only be satisfied by trying to hurry home as soon as possible.

Meg's fellow dancers had noticed a change in her behavior. She was always such a lively girl, and though she was shy, she was always so full of spunk. Her eyes, once bright, were always downcast, her dancing was sluggish, and she had lost the spring in her step.

Raoul had noticed Meg as well. She was so quiet around him and he could not help but notice how something sad lingered in her normally bright, blue eyes. Though she and her mother had been through more than he could imagine in so little time, Meg had seemed to handle it so well. _'Wait a minute… her mother!'_ He remembered how her face had fallen the first time he spoke with her since she joined the Comique as soon as that topic was mentioned.

The vicomte found the poor girl as soon as he could after rehearsal and managed to catch her just in time before she prepared to scurry home.

"Mademoiselle Giry!"

Even with her desire to get home immediately, Raoul's voice easily stopped her in her tracks.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, bon soir."

"Same to you. Mademoiselle, I'm sorry, but I've noticed that you haven't quite been acting like yourself. Is something wrong?"

Raoul noticed how her eyes instantly dropped and he could not help but feel sympathy for the poor girl. She motioned with him to follow her backstage, out of the way of everyone else.

"It's maman. She's very sick. She started coughing up blood the other day. I took her to the hospital and…" Meg's voice trailed off as she tried to quiet the tears that now stung her cheeks. She felt a warm hand enclose hers and Raoul's touch gave her the extra push she needed to go on. "She's dying, monsieur. She has two months at the most left!"

Carefully restrained sobs soon took over her small body. Raoul felt his heart break as he watched Meg mourn. After all that her family had done for him, it was unbearable to see her cry. With kind sympathy, Raoul embraced the trembling ballerina and gently stroked her head, much like she had done the morning after the fire. As soon as she felt his strong arms around her, Meg let out a small gasp that was covered by a sob. With some hesitancy, she leaned farther into his arms. The warmth that surrounded her soothed her and Meg felt a little better as the sweet scent of his cologne met her nose. Meg wanted so much to stay like this forever, but already she could feel awkwardness setting in. Slowly she slid from his arms and wiped her swollen eyes and Raoul offered her a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," she said with a fake laugh.

His soft gray eyes met hers in a serious gaze. "No, feel free to cry. You did the same when I acted like a blubbering fool that night. Besides, I know it's hard to loose a parent."

Through her tears, Meg smiled up at him. The fact that he cared did not entirely dissolve her sorrow, but it certainly made it a little easier.

"Mademoiselle, if there is anything I can do, any way to assist you and your mother, please feel free to tell me."

"Thank you," she said meekly. "Thank you very much."

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

As death drew nearer, both Girys had begun to feel the doom and anxiety that its shadow cast over them. It was so hard for Madame to watch as her devoted daughter struggled to care for her, maintain their home, and work as both a dancer and a seamstress at the opera to pay for the tenement as well as medicines and doctor bills. Protector and provider was her natural duty, but the old woman knew that her health had caused the roles to switch. Though Meg's tireless devotion was vital, it further reminded her of how much her illness had weakened her body, yet her soul was still strong.

It was not long before Christine, as well as her new husband arrived and secretly stayed with the Giry's. With the Phantom, she had fled out of the city and moved outside of Tours, but a letter from Meg of her mother's condition had instantly brought them back. They arrived in the cover of night with an anxious look that had lightened once Meg greeted them.

As soon as Meg opened the door and found Christine, she quickly concealed a squeal of delight so as not to disturb the other people in the tenement. Though her absence was beneficial at the theater, Meg couldn't have been happier to see her friend again.

"Oh Christine, it has been too long!"

"Yes, it has," Christine replied as they entered the apartment. "Meg, you know Erik, don't you?"

Only when Christine had mentioned him did Meg really notice the tall shadow that loomed behind them. Immediately she felt herself shrink from intimidation. So, this was the Phantom of the Opera. As he stepped closer into the light, she noticed the piercing white mask. He was everything she had expected: intimidating, powerful, quiet as a shadow, and cloaked in darkness and majesty. She swallowed as he drew closer. "Yes… of course. Pleased to meet you," she said meekly as he shook her hand.

"Ah yes, Meg Giry," he said in a voice that was quiet but filled with power. "We truly meet at last. The pleasure is mine."

"How is she?" Christine asked in a concerned tone.

"Asleep for now," Meg replied. "It's only been a week since we found out, but how time has flown." Her voice wavered dangerously and she stopped herself before tears seized her again. "Come, I'll show you where you can stay."

Meg led them to her room. The cot that she slept on next to her mother would suit her fine. Though her guests would certainly have a bit of a tight fit on her small bed, it was the best she could offer in this small apartment. Besides, Meg did not believe she would be getting much sleep these days while a bit of her mother's life slipped away with each passing minute.

Meg could not have been more grateful for Christine's friendship. While she was rehearsing and sewing, Christine and Erik took care of her mother as well as the house, making her load considerably lighter. Yet despite their much-needed assistance, the weight on her shoulders did not lighten as her mother's health truly took a turn for the worst.

Finally, after many rigorous months of rehearsal, Le Théâtre Comique was finally ready for opening night of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. Like many opening nights of the past, backstage was filled with enormous chaos as the performers scrambled into their costumes and makeup. Meg's stomach was filled with a thousand butterflies as she applied glitter around her eyes. Though stage fright was certainly nothing new, it never failed to come before a show. But that was not the only reason that Meg was worried sick. The thought of being away while her mother was almost gone was unnerving and nothing she did could drive that away. It filled her with an even greater fear than stage fright. What if her mother died before she got to say one last goodbye! But a call from a fellow dancer reminder her that the curtain would rise in five minutes and all of Meg's worries were soon lost in the fabulous whirlwind of performing.

Opening night had been a fantastic success and Meg enjoyed it not only because of triumph, but because for a few, precious hours, the terrible load that weighed her down was momentarily lifted and made her light enough to dance with all of the grace and agility that she possessed. But nothing lasts forever, a lesson that Meg had learned repeatedly and harshly. No sooner had she left the stage after curtain call when she remembered what lay in store for her at home and the wings that ignorance had given her were torn away, leaving her to plummet back into sorrow. She passed the Vicomte backstage but the urgent look on her face immediately let him know that no time could be spared for a usual conversation. Her costume was quickly thrown back onto a hanger and into the wardrobe of her dressing room before she took off.

Meg's heartbeat pounded in her ears as she sat as patiently inside the carriage, silently willing for it to move faster. Yes, ignorance could be bliss, but not knowing whether her mother still had life within her was one of the worst forms of torture possible. Her heart leapt as she jumped out and stopped only a moment to pay the driver before tearing up the stairs of the tenement. She stood outside the door, searching through her purse for her key. Her hand moved to slide it into the slot but the door opened before she could, revealing a grave looking Erik. Meg looked up into his chilled, blue eyes filled with anxiety. For a split second she wondered if she should dare to confirm her biggest fear, but her strength failed her and she only dashed away into the bedroom where Christine sat with tear-stained cheeks. Meg's heart gave a fearful pang and again she wondered if she should ask, when a small, strained sound met her ears.

"Meg," her mother whispered and in an instant she was at her side.

"Maman, thank God! I though…"

"Shh, there's no time. Listen, I must go very soon, but I must tell you something… Meg, I could not have asked for a better daughter. I have watched all of my hopes and dreams come true in you ever since you were a little girl, and such a fine young woman you have become." Madame paused for a moment as a dry cough echoed in her raged throat. Tears proceeded to stream down Meg's rosy cheek as her mother's hand gently caressed it.

"Come now, don't cry. I'm not worried dear. I can finally be with your father now. He was a wonderful man Meg. You would have loved him just much as I. I love you, my daughter, never ever forget that."

"I love you too, maman!" Meg sobbed, feeling grief overtake her trembling body.

"Be strong Meg. Do not give up all you've worked for because of grief. Promise me Meg, promise that you will stay strong." Meg nodded her head, to overwhelmed with the bittersweetness of this last goodbye. "You are a Giry, and you are a strong, talented woman. Be strong dear, keep going strong, no matter…"

One last shallow breath fluttered from Madame's lips before her life left with it and her hand fell limp in Meg's grasp. For one moment, all was completely still and a hushed silence fell over the room. Meg just sat there motionless, holding her mother's hand as Christine quietly sobbed into Erik's arms while the Phantom just watched in sorrowful awe. Whether the silence or Meg and Christine's anguished sobs were worse to observe, it was hard to tell, but both cut through Erik like a white hot knife as his own grief welled up inside him. Death was so familiar to him. He was used to feeling the life depart beneath his strangling grip, but never before had death affected him so as the only true mother-like figure in his life was lost. He held his trembling wife closer and kissed her head as silent tears of his own splashed onto her chocolate curls.

The funeral of Madame Antoinette Giry was fairly large one as nearly every living person whose life she had touched came to say farewell. Christine and Erik had remained distant from the crowd of mourners upon fear of recognition, but Meg knew that they were still hiding in the shadows of the church. Almost every ballerina who had danced while she was in charge of the corps de ballet came with tear-filled eyes and heavy hearts, as well as some singers who came to know her for the strict but caring woman she was. The Vicomte de Chagney had come to honor Madame for Meg's behalf and for saving his life. Even Monsieurs Lefevre, Andre, and Firmin had come to pay last respects. The small church was nearly packed. Many stood there in reverent silence, many cried with great sobs, but the most moving display of grief came from Little Meg. As she stood there in the first pew, Meg allowed a silent river of tears to flow, not letting grief and mourning overpower her. Antoinette's daughter had not forgotten her mother's last words. She was going to be strong and resilient, just as her mother had been to the very end, no matter how much her strength tried to waver.

After the burial, a few mourners lingered about before silently returning to their carriages. Christine and Erik watched her from a distance, knowing better than to try to move her. Meg stood there over the mound of fresh dirt loyally, much like she had at her mother's deathbed. The cool breeze blew at her hair and skirts rapidly, yet she remained numb to everything around her.

'_I can't believe this is really goodbye,' _she thought repeatedly. Half of her just wanted to run away as fast as her legs would carry her, but she remained glued to the spot, unable to believe that this long-lived nightmare was over, yet just beginning.

Even with the whistle of the wind in her ears, Meg heard approaching footfalls, believing them to belong to Christine or Erik. She turned slowly to face them, only to find that it was Raoul. He stood before her in silence with grief clouding his gentle, mournful gray eyes. Not a word was exchanged between them and none needed to be. Raoul understood that it was not words, but actions that helped to heal. Meg's gaze locked with his for a moment, before she burst into violent sobs and flung herself into his arms, not caring about the numerous divides between them, only aware of the desperate need to be held and to feel the warmth of another human being. Raoul wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and her cries were muffled as she cried into his chest. As she trembled in his embrace, his memory brought him back to the morning of his own loss and how he had sobbed while she held him. He remembered that primitive need for human contact while a heart was so full of sorrow and he drew her closer, gently stroking her mane of golden hair. It was then that the young Vicomte came to understand something: both of them needed friendship of another who could understand while both suffering in the same, terrible way from losses of different forms. Raoul was all ready aware that Philippe would reprimand him for associating with someone from a lower class, but the expectations of society's hierarchy had not blinded the younger de Chagney from the need of human companionship, especially when both him and Meg needed it the most. Besides, after all that Meg and her mother had done for him, it was the least he could do.

**Sorry guys, I seem to have a habit of killing off Madame Giry. However, nothing brings people together like grief and I need Meg to be alone for later chapters. **


End file.
